


Petrichor

by Kankrius



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angelstuck, Demonstuck, Empirestuck, Medievalstuck, Multi, War, canonical injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kankrius/pseuds/Kankrius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where a simple lie can elude a nation to precarious matters, and thousands of years of peace scourged by war. The two races of the Seraphim and Daeva existence lie at stake, as with their feud contradicting human livelihood. Can harmony be resolved, even as blood quakes the earth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

War.

 

It is an invigorating thing, yet uncanny all the same. It strikes as ecstasy in the eyes of some, whereas feared within others. From the sharp clashing of steel on steel, to the sweat following in tandem to the scorn reflective in their opponents hearts. It is at that moment you realize this is the reality in which has come to pass at the fault to one of your own. A betraying act of vengeance escalated beyond comprehension, bringing about a celestial and terrestrial act of war and at what cost? All because someone was using their stupid mind-games on her? It was an absolutely ridiculous course of action to take upon, though carried it out nonetheless, regretting not a moment of her doing, present as The Mercenary watched her victims very eyes fade from the disgusting hue of a demonic black to a ghastly white in death. It was but a distant memory adrift at the back of a mind jaded with corruption, as it should be.

 

Magistrate Wyphyr could still remember the way the chortling maliciousness would pass through their lips before finding the old friend standing before a sea of dead corpses, the amusement and entertainment received was foreboding and sinister. It was an exact representation of her kind’s reputation adequately of wickedness, but also the cause of the most notoriously known act of warfare these two vastly different species would come to recognize, occurred at the spite of nefarious deception.

 

Their primary fleet had just recently docked within the encasing shadows of the mainlands latent ports, the hull just barely grazing the rock-face the femme and a handful of their crew-mates scale the rigidness of the sharp teeth that was the cliff-side, brown gauntlets thick with leather-bound works, serving it the ideal tool to protect the callous of The Mercenary's talented vices (hence the name, supposedly), and how else were they to feel the rich pulse of adrenaline that was homicide? A crooked smile etches across her blue-clad lips, fangs grazing the soft flesh of her mouth as Octvice continues the climb to victorious settlement and invasion. She has quite the bounty for her head in Heaven, but alas those whom seek out such chiding a presence often do not return to receive such a reward by the Empress herself. Not even a fool would come to the idiocy of an animus gamble with fortune in the occasion of a duel, for Mercenary Octvice simply has all of it. There are protesting grunts that rumble below, she searches of footing loosening the stones against the durable edges in which you cling, enabling a rain of mineral to cascade downwards upon the crew, yet she feels no remorse. 

  
The Mercenary shakes her head, dark, messy curls bobbing with the action as she continues with the free-climbing process, slipping up not once in her experience and skilled upper body strength. Being a witness and active participant to many duels most certainly served a purpose in her present situation, or else her doom unto plummeting towards the rapids the crashed and roared below would bear her no mercy. Skilled was she, even mentally so as a cerulean-blood in equal tandem to her physicality. The woman was certain that what lay before her would be promising in it's entirety. She could feel it coursing throughout her high-blooded veins.

 

Quite some time after managing to completely conquer the wall, her shipmates in tow, Octvice's eyes scanned the valley that plundered below, her now seared vision eight-fold set upon the tavern she could visibly identify from her viewpoint, thirst for a strong mug of rum was on the back of her mind since her fleet recently ran out of stock to, said alcoholic beverage. It was foolish to dare set foot on land for the mere resupply of the adored drink. It was a swill that was capable of swaying your worries and clouding your collateral thought-sponge with effervescent wisps that was optimism. It was not true that she was pessimistic, though it was in which implied she were wary. Careful, and calculating. The dice octet in which she once wielded lay stashed within a parcel stashed to her inner thigh, a blue, hooked saber in its place. A weapon the femme tends to wield with ease and experience, as it has tasted the blood of enemies to a vast array, both castes of a rust to a sickly violet, even her closest semblance to a friend or lover. The Cerulean has yet to slay a fuchsia, but has a sense of mind in which will be problematic as seeing she may never cease the chance.  
  
The overlook in which she gazes upon lays swarming with corpses of Seraphim and Daeva below, unaware to her company. It is just the way her friend had admired it.

 

The day battle was set to scourge the plain between the two forces was upon human ground, the soil to be laced with an apocalyptic scorch of Good and Evil. Heaven and Hell itself, the place many feared they would go in their end of days. It exists, but exclusively available to the refined and the damned, beings whom perished several millennia in the past, succumbing to a reincarnation of the wicked snarls that were demons, or the virtuous veil that were angels. Otherwise known as; The Daeva and The Seraphim. Despite their differences, a treaty of the sort was established to prevent the fall of either opponents kind, frequent battles damaging their count of numbers until the rage was subdued by a surrender on both sides. The Gods of Space and Time admitted a truce on behalf of their forces, which thus concluded their conflict known from the beginning of their prolonging existence.

 

Despite such efforts of the past, there loomed in impassable fate for either assailants. There was the genetics of both men and women to be shed upon that field, it’s once golden meadow of harmony and petrichor now scorched with the slain. Where there lay stirred ground from the burrowing of wildlife now pass the line of corpses littered about, and at the foot of this massacre, this genocide of either species reside two solitary individuals, chests heaving from the foul odour of growing decay within the general atmosphere. Battle-worn attire drape from their brutally assaulted bodies, marks scarring each femmes figuration as a memoire of what came to pass on said day. Behind one’s eyes a crimson flushed hue, there lavished dismay and hurt, the crystalline throes of pity itself within their orbs, secreting teal liquid passed down the blossom of a bruise on her cheek. A fool the Legislacerator had become, a sublime tangent between being stripped of their metaphorical rings of thriving as a finely reputed Ophanium of Integrity all in that of itself.  

 

The Magistrate knew the time of proper judgement outweighed that of her own. It was a scale that was never going to tip to one side in her favour. It was a duty she in solitary must commend to, a diligent reality that merely be broached by the start of this madness. Where the spiders web began, her blade must breach, however thick the winding of a bond the arachnid spun on her being was, said string must be severed. She was a fly aghast in the presence of it’s hunter, keeling under the precipitous susceptibility that was the stronghold of their grasp on their mind. The latter of thought was growing in swamping pulses madness could not quite describe. Her teeth ground against enamel, harsh tiptoes around her inevitable trepidation, teasing, taunting, cruel. The spider draws near, wearing a malicious smile of cerulean, fangs jetting out beneath their alluring fullness of lips.

From what once was a forsaken fold of eyesight now granted a violent scarlet crisp of charred tissue, but the arachnids expression never wavered. It was at this moment that her wounds stung a little more, heart break wildly panged in dismay, because now she knew that this mite had planned this endeavor all along, that their first taste of rebellion had been from the lips of a poisonous deluder. The pain could not be measured external in comparison to the fall that was the celestial's interior from the false sense of zeal that she could recall before the war had been actually detonated.

 

A cackle hindered The Wyphyr’s thoughts, her fated murderer brought down to a single knee in front of the broken girls figure, venom behind the beautiful azure they possessed now flicked a deep well of ebony. For once an Eidolon had deceived one of the Ophanium, and it was evident in Vriska’s crooked grin. Not even their words drowned by the onslaught of her mind could savour what was the bittersweet chagrin of a swell within her chest, a blade piercing clean through the cavity of the Seraphims chest, stealing their breath as her form instinctively arched, finding herself impaled as the sabor lay burrowed not only through her torso, but too the earth below now absorbing the rare teal of her blood. Mercenary Octvice not once tore her gaze from the female before her, emotion a sullen semantic at the back of her head as she watched the other slowly gurgle under the thickening of their own DNA. For a brief moment, light ignited behind tainted oculars.

It was at that moment that the arachnid knew knew the only web she needed to cross now, was the one of her own mind.

 

 


	2. The Nightingale's hymn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the descendant of the infamous, Neophyte Redglare takes solace within the empirical command and landscape of Alternia, the vest plains of heaven itself. A few fellow Cherub's seek greeting, though all ends bittersweet.

**♈♉♊♋♌♍♎♏♐♑♒♓**

 

The Seraphim, and the Daeva.

 

There are some notable similarities between these two countering assailants, and those being their chain of command or hierarchy, if you will. The lowest rung upon the metaphorical ladder is the lesser demons, the freshly twisted souls of humans whom went to hell in death, committing sin prior in their lifetime. They are known as; Familiars, irrelevant in their cunning youth for a suiting title. If they don’t fit in Hell as demonic members, they are sent to earth to prove themselves worthy or be destroyed. If they fail to do so, and a member of heaven is aware, they will take that soul to heaven to become one of; The Rectified.

A selective and scarce class of Daeva are The Recidivists. They are fallen angels that denied the luxury of Heaven or were punished, exiled then to the depths of the Damned. Angels turned demonic, to be brief. Next being the members of Hell in which have spent over a thousands years a Familiar, now evolved with newfound abilities and worthy of a title. A name to express how victims would be neutralized or a characteristic trait they possessed. They are known as; Drudes. With a developed reign of one to the twelve carapaces in correspondence to the granted powers from those Before us.

And finally it is the highest level a demon may breach in which is the level where they are often referred to as royalty, or a strongly regarded individual in Hell. They are known as; The Eidolon There are only seven, in which regard the seven deadly sins. Pride, Wrath, Lust, Greed, Sloth, Envy, and Gluttony. This class is exclusive and can only come to pass by being granted by the God of Time himself. They were the first species of Daeva.

With the angels follows a similar progression. That being the first and lowest level, though still rather vigorous. The Cherubim being those whom are newly arrived souls in Heaven.

Souls that went to hell in which then were rescued by a higher class of angel in its trial of taint, brought to Heaven to become the selective class called; The Rectified.

The second are those that in which are aged members and have been in heaven for over a thousand years. Their numbers aren’t of many, as seeing the Cherubim are often notorious for committing sin in their newfound life, cast astray to fall, exiled Seraphim's that are then sentenced to a lifetime in hell, corrupting their virtue and creating a new class known as; The Recidivists. This second loyal level are known as; Aeons, and now have finally earned a title of their own rather than

The third and finally are those in which are also only exclusive to a select seven of the Seraphim. These are called; The Ophanium. They are representatives of the seven heavenly virtues in which are; Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Integrity, and Humility. Such a profound tier of honour is given by the Goddess of Space, the creator of the Seraphim.

These are but the latter most took much intrigue within, as seeing the human population down upon the surface of Earth were poorly crafted images of flaw and destruction, what with their provocative sense of humour, and barbaric tendencies towards each other. It was all but an earful at all times within either of the empires, especially one Seraphim whom would excessively agree. The day was still rather young, passages of sunrise igniting the kingdom within the clouds raining in beams of warm, colourful rays. The Sphere during this age of Newlark was always generous upon the awakening greenery of The Surface, yet irritatingly bright for the creatures which roamed further down yonder, secluding themselves in turn within the cimmerian of night as The Crescent would grow brighter and overrule the setting sun. Daedra admired the rolling cold of Darkfrost and how bitter the air would be against parched lips, even after the flesh splitting from such a subzero atmosphere.

Even with said preferences, Newlark was a joyous perigee where the solstice of the sun and moon lingered in harmony for an entire day. It welcomed life across the lands, and carried the births of many. It was a peaceful treaty sworn among the gods long ago, and had not been tread dangerously since. There lacked any logical reason to break such code, so the Daeva and Seraphim were forced to fare one another's presence, regardless as of circumstance as long as neither harmed the other. If a single act of combat came to pass, and such a sworn day of truce was destroyed, Armageddon was certain to descend upon all whom roam in the world of the living. It would be absolutely absurd to enforce carnage in risk of the fate of their very own existence. The Order was strict in that sense that proposed on the finest of either specie to mediate the piece, auspisticing all who conspire with foul intentions. It was the singular exception in this case.

 

**♈♉♊♋♌♍♎♏♐♑♒♓**

 

One Cherub in particular happened to value such allegiance and the justice of it all together quite fondly, setting forward their very existence upon the lineage as a representative of Integrity, an important role the Ophanium known as Redglare possesses. With this young angel being their pupil and advocate for such a position of esteemed social order, honor happens to flow through the veins of the Hunters of Teal, otherwise known as Legislacerator's, the brilliant possessors of Seraphim law and transcending knowledge of The Before. It’s a sacred bloodline that has not been broken for millennia and flows through it’s newest era in a lady named; Terezi.

If the term ‘lady’ happens to enforce polite instincts and well-mannered, perhaps it lacks plausible definition of the girl. Terezi is but a new angel, her life ended in the cruelty of steaming oil during a raid between the armies of red and blue by which the humans bore down upon the surface. A child whose vision had been sacrificed in sake of her saving life, however had not altogether allowed odds to be in their favour. Blind, she stumbled through the gates, eyes a ghoulish shade of scarlet that held an odd sense of truth behind them. She had cried on and on, yet none other approached, frightened by the grisly fortune of their sight as they feared their being some abstract form of Daeva. Youth can be cruel, so they would taunt without relent, harsh slurs passed about the celestial as though it had become some kind of game.

That is until The Neophyte appeared, and heaven forbid if the blood-red of their own eyes didn't haunt the children, then her foreboding sense of sombre in their tone was tipped quite enough to have the others scurry off in what could be translated into fear. Terezi could still recall the exact moment where a serene smile had spread to her ancestors features, their shared teal-DNA a factor that comforted she. The child had been offered a single, yet large-gloved red hand, her sense of touch making its way up the span of their arm to the rims of, said apparel, clinging to opposing sides with incoherent babbles passing through the blind-girls lips by which quivered in fright. Her other senses not as attuned to this change of sensory, however The Neophyte guided them through the perilous strongholds of disability. Being off-center in a world meant to be perfectly aligned.

"Terezi," A sharp, taut voice broke the void, and the youth startled for a moment before recollection, blinking curiously towards the source of such a kind tone that was packed with the side-arm of justification, "what doth thy see?" Continued the Ophanium, bearing similar, raw, scarlet hues as the younger did. For a moment, there was a snort from the younger which was stifled, lips pointed down in a contorted frown,

"I can't see anything m-ma'am.." Terezi practically whispered, gaze parting from the others, but their hand was swift. The red-glove had taken a firm grip upon the Cherubs chin, advising direction to face up at Redglare herself, a solemn expression evident within their regard and it left an uneasy flight of anxiety through the child's spinal column, despite being unable to see. Suppressing her desire to turn tail and flee, Terezi bumped out her chest, head holding balance to stare the other up, "Why are you asking me that stupid a question?" Mockery was embedded within the Pyrope’s brittle tone, earning a thin smile from the tall femme before her. Their shoulders held high, chin a fine point in addition to competent features. A dark shadow loomed beneath said, scorched hues, the burden of her position as an elite bearing one characteristic upon grim expression.

“Why dost thy thinketh I don’t believe thine words?” Redglare preceded on questioning, adorning the lopsided smirk her gaze could too portray, as they were notorious of title by the sharpness that her optics possessed in only a mere simple regard.

The Neophyte, Redglare. Appointed upon the mighty scale of Seraphim jurisdiction and point to serve in favour as the keeper of Integrity. A will to see what divides right and wrong, but too the shrouds that is rationalism in itself. The day of their summoning, the fourth month, of the thirteenth day as of Newlark, a prophet lacking ability to perceive, yet harboured a thirst quenched only by the reservation of justice. Their Cherubim name a mystery to many, posing a sense of ominous secrecy to her being all together, but to The Order, Latula was the mortal title given whenever she walked among humans.   

Distinctive in the field of apparel, the rebound form she takes falls in the spectrum of fabric both teal and of red. A single veil that drapes vertically from her waist and back side divide tights of an accommodating aqua, governing the plantations respective of the castes.

There was more to duty than that of law. The vast spectrum of genetics that passed only down to a select few, passing from mortality to immortality as the bloodline would be translated into ascension of the heavens, or the declension of the abyss. It takes the shape of the colours of the human rainbow. A perverse tyranny in shades and DNA. It was a jaw-clenching illness the Ophanium would regard such with, as their assailants judged the 'fresh-meat' by fated blood-lines. If they share such rarity with a higher-up, the Eidolon was to take one up as a pupil, training so discreet it brought a foul taste to several celestial. Being Guardians of the human-race, the very thought Daeva went about twisting a once-human soul was disgusting. Very few had seen such a provocative act come to pass themselves, as Seraphim often refrained from treading onto the others territory, Perdition owning its own darkness that could induce a chill upon even the spine of an Ophanium.

It was reduced to spoken whispers, mere surfacing discussion of how the layers that were Hell corrupted the soul, or the wings of the celestial. Once vibrant snow-white ailerons charred to become a foul shade of crowfeather, the onyx of taint neighbouring ones figure as a companion uninvited. Few who still roamed the celestial empire bore these colours, but they battled an everlasting treachery that was perceived during their brief visit to Perdition. It was possible to break the Ophanium just by mere sight, but it was another to shatter their very essence in itself by the discretion of iniquity.

Redglare was one whom could recall such cruelty first-handedly, for it was one of they in their very depths did her eyes falter absolutely.

 

_An apparent simple passage would she inflict, bearing no difference in the flamboyance of her apparel as the rift between the realms began to split before her. A brilliant mixture of scarlet and topaz glowed from within and around, the transmission of temperature known as a deep, bone-crawling waft of air past by. Uplifting the auduelent of her staff, the celestial gravitated towards the tearing fabric, slipping her limber figure into the rough edges such a portal had dismembered in order to meld two worlds into one. The tranquillity from the surface behind welcomed her during the moment of arriving, however as the chasm of darkness began to gradually swallow the ivory of sacred appendages into the vapours of the damned itself did an odd chaste kiss of fear tighten the air in unneeded cardiovascular organs._

_From below rose the foul fragrant that only the decayed adorned, every rotten flux had the Ophanium's stomach churning fervently, bile tempted to be released as the claws of the dead reached her mind. It was a darkness semi-permeable, but even from the cascade of light Redglare's wings would emit could not have the deep shroud recede. It was aware, the shadows looming within, a low click evident that she was not at all alone. Pointed enamels chewed at the thin inner folds of her ebony-clad lips, the orifice of a warning growl rose from the vibrating chords of vocals, passing through the Angels bared fangs in warning. In one hand was a red-headed cane manufactured into that of a slender blade. Inscriptions trailed it's gleaming sides, an old language pledging servitude and the legislation of the disgraced. Upon said staff there loomed the head of a dragon, it's marble orbs embedded unto an oppressed steel, glows two Ruby hues, ignited by the wavelengths her essence would emphasize. Taking a stance mid-air, they had prepared themselves for whatever loomed beyond her perception, an opaque shift of ebony rustling against the vast ocean of obscurity it which it reaped, "Show me thine self!" A breathless demand was emanated from Redglare, piercing optics wading through the mist of dread, fearless and utterly, completely foolish._

_The creature that stalked drew in close within the vicinity of the Ophanium, all hisses and vicious clicks were fended off as she parried with the blade cloaked in a veil of grace. The foul being seemed to not be quite tangible, however recoiled the minute light crossed through the air like lightning. Shifting its pliable form, the spawn offered a fury-furling snarl, gaping orifices bearing relentless rows of pointed enamel, it's teeth stained an iridescent crimson, following an overall pitch of yellow from lack of care thereof. It had slit-like pupils, scleras surrounding the iris a violent orange, an almost sunset redeeming pair of oculars, if not for the raw leer it offered in its momentum. Each attack overwhelmed the celestial, as her opponent seemed to not sense pain through every jab and close counter she released. The battle wavered as her mind grew incapacitated with a plaguing fear, her movements growing sluggish as each mention of muscle tensed in the sudden crippling dementia the celestial's mind was clawed with. The cortex of her initial process of information was being terrorized by the harsh jeering only that of a high-classed Daeva could harness. She knew that the grip upon her mind only dug in deeper as her deepest fears were left carelessly in the open. As hallucinations clouded each of their own judgement, she felt herself falling, plummeting as silver appendages were shredded in the descent, a sickly ghost of warm air finding her nostrils as the monster fought her unprotected form._

_Each moral once held faltered with the jagged scars of Perdition as her teal genetics was secreted from untreated wounds and she fell deeper, spiralling in the tendrils of madness. Nothing could have prepared for what every experience pursuing Redglare's mind that day after. She could hear a deep, ruthless cackle forming at the back of her head, mocking her infidelity and weakness. It was as though they sloughed through the lightest drifts of snow, disrupting the bed of the cold substance as she trudged further, every foot taken forwards less lucid than the last. And abruptly, the presence was lifted, the clashing of metal on beast above filtered into her scarce values of vision, ensnaring her fibres of being. She was numb, flesh sharply cold to the touch as her mindless perception drank in the sopors of hell around, that she hardly felt the vice freeing her, following the insane wail from furthermore. Another of her kind cradled her limp, wasted form, sewing up every dressed exterior wounds they could oppress. But the swill on her throes of thought were never scrubbed clean. It was what stained her magnificent appendages, ashen feathers twitching as she needed now to locate her way through the world without sight._

_She would aimlessly wander through the new detest of the darkness that completely voided life all around. She no longer could admire the wildlife upon The Surface no more, feral as the creatures themselves when another would approach without addressing so beforehand, enticing her fight response as opposed to flight, sabre drawn clumsily as it whisked blindly through the now-empty space before her. Upon some occasions, she would land a blow upon her opponent without much faith in her wild actions, a scratch or two at most was all she would draw before she was immensely taken under sedation by the amendments of a poisonous arrow that would notch itself tightly between the soft and muscle of her posterior. Falling then under the deep cloud of the unconscious, terrors would plague the chess-board that was her mind, wandering in third-person through a chamber of shadows, crimson staining the corridors in which she’d spend days on end being seduced with. Redglare both agnated an ire and jollity to these envisions, as it granted back the sight that was stolen from her, but too resumed the unrelenting taunts that proceeded to even mock her in the broad of daylight._

_Such nightmares concerned The Order of Ophanium, and jurisdiction implied the angel either must be reunited to the location wherein their wings were torn, or be slaughtered. However neither decision had been made, the element of Integrity one too precious to come by throughout the Forlorn Ages. So in the celestial chain of command she remained, though stole herself to revel in the melancholy of her own mind throughout days on end. It had grown to many Seraphim's interest of their missing Sage of Justice, until one in particular dared to approach once a rotational cycle of the seasons passed them by._

_As suspected, Redglare reacted without treason, violence her only side-arm as the mysterious individual visited once each time The Crescent would rise to sail the dark oblivion, sparring until she grew weary with exhaustion, and the following Morn’, she’d continuously discover a fine-smelling work of threads to blanket her slumbering form through the cold of the night. For long, she had become keen to the ominous figure, a sense of curiosity sparking alight the side of her mind that had not been touched in the longevity of before what had transformed the angel into something lesser. Meek. So the natural reaction was to meet them half-way. Though lacking sight, she held a sense of ornery initiative and brought together the plan. The plan was not to per se, interrogate the stranger, but in a sense, instinctively and forcefully restrain them in favour of answers. The jury may stand and raise their fists to disagree in her wisdom, but a true Legislacerator was she. To slay her opponent without harming them in neither a physical nor psychological fashion, but to edge the truth out through trained efforts without implied relent. And so her mind was set, it’s functions geared together like clockwork as the questions of spontaneity came close to being a tangible thought. Tonight unlike the others would have an outcome differentiated from all the ones of the past, this would be the time of discovery and composure as she took a tranquil stance in the middle of her chambers, sitting cross-legged upon the path-work of a foretold past the Seraphim possessed, the unwinding of a story portrayed onto canvas. Idly a finger found itself tracing a design that she no longer could recognize, yet the subtle brush of carpet against flesh calmed her odd sense of tension._

_Only until the approach of footsteps looming beyond the doors did her awareness surface, the familiar of a blades hilt in hand as her visitor was brought once again by some act of kindness that they oddly seemed to always offer. It was a kindled retreat from the scourge that was the dark tissues of her mind, a spurt of aggression passive in the sense it left no tension in the air their presence would encompass. For the most part, Redglare seemed poised, posterior brought forth in an assertive arch as the scarlet of unwavering, blind hues scanned her surroundings, perception unavailable, but calculating oddly enough. Dark hairs found themselves skirting the frames of her slim features, jagged teeth hidden behind the security of a night-kissed smile. For a moment her lips pursed as the shallow dragging of wood against its hinges found her audio-entrance, her senses now heightened in her quest for answers._

_Whom wandered within vicinity without warrant to their presence? At last, her guest spoke once Redglare offered no suit of defence,, snarls or bitterness, a nasal passage passing through their orifice as they were kindled to be a he,_

_"Your conscious cognition has stirred, I bear such in mind as I stand before thee. However no turmoil have I to offer in stunning revelation, dear Neophyte. It alas the former has ascended in a crescendo pertaining to the climax of a tail. I assure I bear you no harm this day." The voice sounded roughly taut with a slur, presumably a lisp, the blind one decided, quirking angled brows to a questioning frown,_

_"What hast brought you timelessly to my chamber, brother? Hath thy pity overruled the dread that is unbecoming of I?"_

_"Sister, I bear you no morose faculty of the sense, but in a stead that of beguilement."_

_The female's grip upon her sabre tightened at the male's ominous tongue that spoke words she could not comprehend. What sense of merriment did the disabled bring, and such had a low chuckle erupt from her person,_

_"You speak of merriment in the presence such as that of myself? A fool with but a lament to grasp in firm from my condition? Weary-eyed I question thee your name, as the vocal ornament wavers my memory not."_

_"Psionic they know me as, the ornate incarnation of Humility takes heed in the presence of you I currently reside." Aghast Redglare's features became, though composed through the mere presence of a smirk. So indeed one of her stature has taken to care-taking a withered essence. Her inquiries seethed with wonder, though no more was voiced as the world about the two relented in tranquillity, soft words softening both one another's hardship, and the hours passed them by._

_It had begun to seem her fellow Psionic indeed took comfort within the company of her person, conversation the only battle in which one met the other equally with. Redglare had yet to inquire the purpose to her frequent belittlement within the subject of a spar, though the question skirted from mind, and laughter filled the air. Her lips contrived a smile, and the mannerism in which her guest spoke in, she senses them to harbour the similar contentment. Amber and Aquamarine genetics differentiated the two, however such translated not to the free-method they communed within, too wavering from the poised tongue their stature would speak in. The Psionic and Redglare both appeared to take quite the shining to one another, and thus, and comradery had been born._

_Weeks has  passed, and the femmes stumbling figure had alas come to take on an elegant walk, parrying any banter before her with esteemed precision from The Psionic's aid. The bitterness of Darkfrost behind as Newlark was welcomed, allowing several Seraphim wings to drink in the glory of sunlight on winter-nipped feathers. But hers could never again feel such delight, the scars dug too deep would forever enthral her content, even as sweeps of the years passed her by. Redglare was appointed to strictly roam where prescribed by the other league of high-ranking Angels, knowing that their old friend had been replaced by something different, even if in the slightest. But what were they to do? Redglare was a stubborn lady, straying off the borders between realms without care, even with her friend composed and loyal at her side._

_She had not only lost her sight when taking voyage into the depths, but too her past sense of living as well and so developed something else. Something foreign and unseen, but all in all, it felt justified._

 

**♈♉♊♋♌♍♎♏♐♑♒♓**

 

An hour had passed, the sun still riding the cobalt oblivion with generous warmth raining down in its wake, basking the surface below in a gentle paint of colour. A stray Canary-bird echoed out its chortling song of goodnight, gathering a flock of others of its kind and taking to the sky in free disarray. Such piqued interest of the young Cherubim as Terezi listened to the creatures through a crevice in the clouds, a thin-lipped smile spreading to her grizzled characteristics. It was at this moment could one truly see the girl as she was. A delightfully ginger-headed lady wearing loose fabric, probably inquiring he once belonged to a poorly family. But her gaze had not contorted to a frown in such thought, instead there graced the foundations of content to her pale, chapped and parted lips, tongue darting over the rough flesh out of habit. The girl held strong eyebrows, delightfully sharp but owning a sense of governing to the strict maroon of her scorched oculars.

Much like her ancestor, her figure wasn't profoundly great in height, yet was generously curved as similar to that of a sand-filled hour glass, the dials of her figure were cloaked in a soft teal rendition free of patterning or any formidable altercations. The Dolorosa had taken thoughtful notice of their lack of better fashion choice, winding up their golden chariots of fabrication to create a simple outfit for their to wear. Having not taken prior size measurements, the aqua was fondly loose, as how Terezi admired most of her apparel, not as though she was particularly interested in said, field however, being blind and with a lack of better judgement. But even with such assumptions, the red-heads touch was adequate as she traced the small of her own frame around the bands and stitches that bound her outfit together, giggle-snorting occasionally at the amount of consideration went into concocting this piece. It was only really at that moment was she devolving what was good and bad about the entire experience she presently bore witness to. Everything felt different, if almost surreal in a sense, especially as her fingers brushed quizzically against the pointed ends of her seemingly dental-modifications. The femmes ears jutted out further than they normally protruded before, triangular now in the sense she could maneuver them freely as a muscle. Such small identifications were evident as the sense of touch would wander about her arms, features and sides.

Perhaps it was once that an esquire took the sickening spiels of pity upon her lesser-figment of a citizen with the Skaian kingdom, donning the poor girl the right and perilous commodity of suitable clothing whenever being within the royals presence, because having the filth of lowly servants and whatnot completely berated their reputation. It’s edges and stitching had been brought together rather feebly that it would perhaps drive The Dolorosa unto a state of absolute fashionable abasement, or however they wished to identify her rather precarious influence and passion in regards to something simplistic as garments. Terezi quite fathomed as to how a single person could blow a minuscule aspect way out of proportion. And they knew she, the Pyrope as being but a melodramatic individual. They would soil their bedding if aware of their alleged ‘goddess’ or whatever they knew them by, lest being agnostic or otherwise.

Any rendition of perceiving the pastel empirical paradise was a quaint demeanour of suggestion, mere fractions and outlining of a landscape framed scarcity in her world of blindness, shapes coloured along its curvatures and edging the respective colour of everything else. A solemn, desolate grey. Lacking colour, Terezi found her nasal passages twitching, seeking any form of recognition to any specific tome of her memories recollection whenever alive, but the untrained glands became overwhelmed in a mere matter of seconds. The attempt was overlooked, and another sense became attuned to. A flock of what was presumed to be Morning Lark grazed the cloud barrier further yonder below, passages of melodic chirping bringing a momentary smile to her lips. Had the night truly passed her by that soon in her instant. The likelihood seemed forbidding, though she steeled herself at that moment.

 

With lack of concentration receding as the song of the beings gifted with the power of flight sought solace elsewhere, the young ones prowess shifted, immature unattuned senses not yet born into seeing with her other capabilities, the voice sourcing from a few presumed feet away brought the girl from her quiet, head whipping to the right all of the sudden, shoulder-length hairs cascading the sides of freckled cheeks as the stranger spoke with a peculiar contempt evident in their voice. It sounded as though they were irritated as the tone, by which she assumed belonged to that of a male babbled on, another, yet softer voice trying to hush their friend as much as one could. Terezi recognized neither of the youth, or so she figured they were just kids, judging from the childish chortle the adolescent all seemed to possess. Not quite keen in her fields of perception with other than her sense of sight, the young girl failed to quite make out what the others were saying under hushed breaths, but a gaze fixed upon her caused the female to squirm in the slightest,

"You doofus’ can quit your mumbling over there. I don't really bite, just lick." Cackled the teal-blood, suppressing a bout of laughter from the silence that fell over her company, until quiet scuffling approached. Terezi figured they seemed harmless enough, one being all soft and eloquent whereas the other noisy and seemingly irritated, it was almost endearing,

"So what brings you lot to visiting the likes of me? The spooky blind-girl with eyes a menacing red." The laugh she offered was deadpan, but loud. Terezi had always been a rather rambunctious child, wherein to the point she was consistently told to 'calm thine breasts' in social situations. Well, maybe not exactly like that, but it was vaguely close enough to count.

The silence falling between the latter that gathered around, perturbed into an uncomfortable hush that had the girl wriggle around in, sighing over-dramatically and groaning in distaste,

"Don't tell me you just came here to be quiet as hell, I've obviously got some intense bird-watching to do." _Wow, what a bunch of total knobs.._ She contemplated to herself, rolling the burnt-tissue of her irises with another loud grunt, falling backwards with soft 'oof' emitted from the contact of posterior against cloud surface. Maybe she was being a little bit harsh, but it was now or never that the bores speak up or a completely faux wall of ignorance is coming up, metaphorically speaking. There was a stirring in one of them, and a posh, yet soft voice spoke out. It was a tone she figured was predictably English, like how the Nobles would be or something.

Terezi barely could recall her past mortal experience when meeting semi-royalty before. But one thing that was memorable was the way one of them dismounted the tall-figure of a Thoroughbred, glassen slippers landing into the mud her people would trudge around in, an obnoxious squelch being sounded as the other girl approached a very taken-agog, Terezi, bright blue hues blinking up at a delightful violet that adorned the strangers pale features appropriately. She welcomed the peasant with an elegant, 'hello', a warm smile offered to someone as lowly as Terezi herself. To even the present moment in time, the afterlife, the Cherubim was taken aback by the encounter, a soft hint of blue lighting up her cheeks, but she rubbed the staining away stubbornly.

Returned to her proper state of mind, it wasn't until one cleared their throat to interrupt her reminiscence of the past, earning a blubbering, "Wha-" As a rude response. Soft chuckles were heard from the supposed female, but she gladly repeated what had been said, prior with a sense of purity behind her words,

"Ah, what I had been explaining was our joining of you here at the lookout, but it seems that explanation isn't terribly plausible nor regarded I assume. Oh dear, pardon my insecurity, I am Kanaya. Descendant of The Dolorosa, and this is my friend, Karkat, descendant of The Signless. We bear no infidelities, if you were curious. Just piqued of intrigue in germane to The Neophytes expected descendant. Terezi, am I correct?"

Said, descendant was all but in awe at the gracious swill they seemed to entitle themselves too. An accent thin, yet charming, and their knowledge brought an edge to the girl’s stomach. She wasn’t fond of people knowing things when the subject was she, as it just felt raw and bitter as opposed to beguilement in the pinnacle of her bile-system,

"Yeah, what's it to you?" Terezi snorted brashly, quirking a brow,

"Most certainly nothing to inflict a foreboding context, I assure you. As aforementioned, you being within genetic relation, more or less, to the Sage of Justice is quite the ornery surprise. It is quite the opportunity to meet another Cherubim that falls in alignment to the Ophanium."

"Well, this isn't a public one-piece museum. I'd suggest you and your buddy move along, there isn't anything historic here for you to see." These infants were beginning to troll upon the girls nerves if it were not obvious enough, and such understanding began to settle within the other females tone as it lost any sense of sincerity,

"I happen to realize that, and to be quite frank, it was Karkat's idea to begin with." That earned the glare from a quite red-faced companion,

"Wow, thanks a fucking lot, Kanaya, way to be a pal and rat on me. Listen, Terezi or whatever your name is or isn't, no need to get a cob in your protein chute, we were just passing through. Good? Good. Now come the fuck on, oh descendant of The Dolorosa, we were supposed to greet the newbie. 'Radglare' or whatever, instructed not to bother this one. Anyway, later asswipe."

The fading steps of the vociferous one made Terezi tip her head off to one side, confusion befuddling her features at the mannerism in which Karkat spoke, but yet amusement welled too in its stead,

"Oh, you love me already, Karkat, don't deny it." Darn, that was a rather obscene gesture they insinuated. Talk about grouchy.

"Well, excuse me then. Welcome to Alternia, we will leave you to your thoughts. Goodbye, Terezi."

 

The red of her scelera's flashed with musing as the strangers presence had paid its bidding and alas walked away. The Cherub rolled her hues, arms settling across her thin chest, gaze fixing elsewhere for the time-being. Every member of this alleged, 'Alternia' were morons, all daft and clearly had their trousers on too tightly. Kanaya seemed kind, yes, however the tone in which they utilized to address the Pyrope-girl felt minimizing to her person, and it had grated upon nerves that seemed to be on absolute sensory overload. Karkat on the other hand seemed to be the absolutely perfect target of some schooling and her influence. Still, wherever Redglare had wandered off to, left the young ginger-haired femme with the mere company of boredom and a few wandering fledglings. What happened to her anyways? Dying, that is. All the girl could recall was the blistering liquidation of what was once bewitching, ice-blue cores, the darkness that swelled instantaneously in her blindness, and all that she once knew, had been thieved of her person. It seemed absolutely surreal that she had passed onto an otherworldly existence, especially Heaven, or 'Alternia' as that classy-lady had mentioned. Come to contemplate it, why exactly did the tattered, scorched tissue of her sight bewilder even in the empire of celestial intent? Was Heaven not meant to mend those whom crossed-over disabled, or was it just an requisition thing. Whatever the reasoning, Terezi was unimpressed, idly now toying with the smooth membranes that was the clouds, humming absent-mindedly to a hymn her parents used to use in favour of putting such a rowdy child to succumb to the night's cloak of sleep.

 

**♈♉♊♋♌♍♎♏♐♑♓**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm.. I'm really sorry about the obtuse description of the angel tiers and whatnot. In short, this is what I was attempting to convey at that time;  
> There in total for heaven are four tiers for The Seraphim; Cherubim {mediocre in power, new angels} Rectified {demons that were cast to Earth, and rescued by an angel to live in heaven} Aeons {lower-term leader, yet still extremely powerful and over a thousand-years old} Ophanium {big bosses, only seven live at once and represent the seven heavenly virtues}
> 
> Then for hell are four other for The Daeva; Familiars {lowest class, sort of weak yet capable of slaughtering several humans and Cherubim, new demons} Drudes {a few hundred-years old, extremely powerful, though rather dim-witted due to their power} and the Eidolon {big bosses, only seven exist at once and represent the seven deadly-sins}


	3. I'm sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

I'm so sorry anyway who genuinely wished to read this fictitious endeavour I called; writing. I sort of lost any muse or wish to write any further than these chapters. The medieval stanza does no serve wonders to my expertise, so I'm afraid I'll have to detour from writing any further from here on out. If you wish to use this idea as your own interpretation, by all means go ahead. No credit is necessary. I simply just don't want to write this specific ordeal any longer. Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Wyphyr: Combination between Wyvern and Zephyr.  
> |Oct|vice: Octadic  
> {{ Psst;; These will be imported later! Sorry if the names I used are easy to guess which character they shall later, er I mean, presently belong to. *Wink wink* }}


End file.
